


Epilogue After Epilogue

by teaandpinkfrosting



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel is Saved from the Empty (Supernatural), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon Fix-It, the finale doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28430496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaandpinkfrosting/pseuds/teaandpinkfrosting
Summary: A trio of soft post-series epilogues for Cas and Dean.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

_Stars and moons rise and set_

_Then rise again_

_We shall have epilogue_

_After epilogue_

\- Dave Malloy, “Epilogue”

* * *

Dean long ago got used to waking in the perpetual darkness of the bunker with no clue whether or not is was morning. More often than not it turned out to be too early to be awake, but whatever nightmare woke him would be lingering on the edges of his mind, making him just uneasy enough to keep him from returning to sleep. He had gotten used to that, too. He’s always had nightmares, and ever since his time in Hell they've regularly kept him lying awake through the night. For years that's just been an accepted part of his life.

What he isn’t used to is waking comfortably and leisurely, rested enough to get up if he wanted to but preferring to keep dozing until the alarm clock goes off. These kinds of mornings have been becoming more common over the last couple of weeks, and while they feel a bit odd, they’re certainly enjoyable. So when he drifts into consciousness now, he only stretches and rolls over in search of the warm body beside him. Pressing himself into Cas’s back and wrapping his arms around him, Dean smiles at the feeling of the former angel relaxing into him. Turns out that human Cas is pretty fond of sleeping, and Dean’s mornings have been getting lazier and lazier as a result. Not that he’s complaining.

Letting his eyes droop shut again, Dean yawns and buries his face in Cas’s shoulder. He still can’t quite believe that Cas is here with him, that they’re _together_ like this. It wasn’t an easy thing to pull him from the Empty, even with Jack on their side, and Cas has said more than once that he’s lucky his grace was the only real casualty. Dean isn’t sure he believes that Cas is as fine with being human as he claims to be, but between the joy of having Cas back and the terrifying, exhilarating thrill of admitting his own feelings, Dean just hasn’t had it in him to broach the subject. It’s easier and far more enjoyable to just let the whole thing be for now. This thing with Cas—whatever it is—it’s the best _thing_ he’s ever had. Surely he can’t reasonably be blamed for not wanting to stir things up.

It’s been downright domestic lately, and Dean’s man enough to admit to himself how much he enjoys it. With Sam off spending more and more time at Eileen’s—Dean knows that it won’t be long before he decides to move out of the bunker completely, but he doesn’t want to think about that just yet—he and Cas have practically been playing house. Cas had needed time to recover after becoming human, and after going up against Chuck himself Dean hadn’t thought a bit of a vacation sounded too bad either. So their days have become a comfortable routine of cooking and movies and naps and sex, and it’s been pretty damn nice. But starting his days cozied up with a warm, sleepy Cas is definitely one of Dean’s favorite parts.

Lying there in the dark, listening to the sound of Cas’s soft, steady breaths as Dean holds him close, it’s easy to doze off again. When the alarm eventually goes off, Dean’s so comfortable that he doesn’t even want to move to turn it off. It’s Cas’s groan of displeasure that gets him to roll over and grope blindly to silence it. Then he flicks on the light, blinking for a moment in the sudden brightness, before lying back and nestling into Cas again.

“Morning,” he sighs into Cas’s shoulder.

Cas mumbles something incoherent, pressing his face into the pillow, and Dean can’t help but chuckle.

“How ‘bout I go make us some coffee?”

At this Cas turns to wrap his arms around Dean, burying his face in the crook of his neck. His voice is sluggish and rough with sleep. “Stay. Stay and go back to sleep.”

“If I didn’t wake you up, you’d sleep all day.” There’s no real rebuke in Dean’s words, and as he speaks he tangles their legs and presses a kiss to the top of Cas’s head.

“I don’t see a problem with that,” Cas says flatly.

“You’re such a ray of sunshine in the morning.”

“You love me for it.”

Dean smiles, his arms tightening around Cas. “Yeah. I do.”

Maybe years from now, when the pain of it all has receded into distant memory, Dean will give Cas shit for only confessing his feelings when he was sure it would kill him. Dean may not be the quickest at processing emotions, especially the big scary ones that he’d spent years pretending didn't exist, but Cas could have at least given him a _chance_ to react. Then in the days that had followed it had all built up inside him—all the things he’d never get to say to Cas, all the things that Cas would never know. As they had worked to pull Cas out of the Empty, Dean’s thoughts continually turned to what he would say when the moment came, though none of the words that came to him ever felt just right. In the end, it had all just sort of spilled out the moment Cas was safe, in front of Sam and Jack and Eileen and Rowena. Dean isn’t sure he’ll ever recover from the embarrassment, but there was no awkwardness between Cas and him after that. There’d been no need to dissect their feelings or this thing they’re doing now; everything had seemed to just happen naturally, and so far they’ve both been happy to leave it at that.

They lie there quietly for a while longer, Dean running his fingers lazily up and down Cas’s spine as Cas traces patterns on Dean’s side where his shirt has ridden up. The light touch makes Dean shiver, and he can feel Cas smile into his shoulder. It’s too good to be true, he knows. Despite Cas’s insistence that good things do happen, in Dean’s experience they certainly don’t last. Sooner or later—probably sooner—he’s bound to mess this up. He’ll say the wrong thing one too many times, or not be able to say something when he needs to, or push Cas away because that’s what he’s best at. Maybe Cas will just get fed up with him. Hell, he doesn’t even have to be the reason this doesn’t work. Given how dangerous their lives are and how fragile humans are, it’s more than possible that one of them will die. And if there’s one thing that sounds more painful than losing Cas because of his own ineptitude at relationships, it’s losing Cas to some kind of sudden, violent death.

Dean reflexively tightens his arms around Cas at the thought, and Cas notices, pulling back a little to look up at him.

“Dean? What are you thinking about?”

“Nothin’.” Dean tries to soften his expression, doing his best to push away the unpleasant thoughts. “Just like having you here.”

The sleepy smile that Cas gives him makes his stomach flutter. “I like it too.”

“I gotta say, I never thought I’d get to have mornings like this—warm and easy, not jolting awake from nightmares or sneaking out at the crack of dawn after some questionable decisions.”

“I’m glad I’m more than a regrettable one-night stand for you.”

“Well, we’re past one night, at least,” Dean teases, his smile widening at the way Cas scrunches his face. “And you’re definitely not regrettable.”

Cas nestles back into Dean, trailing soft kisses down his throat, making Dean’s breath catch. But the tension won’t quite leave him, not entirely. The anxious thoughts have found a handhold in his mind, and they won’t let go. Cas deserves better than this—better than _him_. Why Cas fell in love with him to begin with is something Dean is certain he will never understand, but now that Cas is human, now that his life is finite, it makes even less sense that he would want to spend that life with Dean. Sure, the last couple of weeks have been great, but there’s always a honeymoon phase. It won’t be long now before Dean starts letting Cas down, and eventually Cas will realize that it’s no good trying to be with someone so deeply broken. Or Dean could fail him in a much simpler way: he could just fail to keep Cas safe. They could be out on any old hunt, and one little slip-up could end up costing Cas’s life. Of course that’s always been a possibility for Sam and him, and it’s one that they’ve even experienced a few times, but with Cas it feels different somehow

No matter the case, it’s obvious that Dean is ill-equipped. It seems that regardless of the exact details, he’s bound to lose Cas. What they have now, no matter how good it is, can only end in heartbreak. This is why it’s been his rule to keep flings short. Any time he gets attached to someone, it ends badly. Surely it’s just plain irresponsible of him to risk Cas in that way. Cas matters too much. And if Dean has any decency at all, he should explain all of this to Cas and just let him go.

But his awareness drifts back to the exquisite feeling of Cas lying in his arms, the safety in the warm press of their bodies, and Dean feels his throat tighten. He’s been bouncing between anxiety and grief and doubt, and now it all seems to hit him at once. He closes his eyes and tries to take a deep breath, but of course Cas feels him stiffen.

“Dean.” This time he sounds fully alert, his tone telling Dean that they won’t be brushing this off. “What’s wrong?”

“’S nothing,” Dean says weakly, not actually expecting Cas to buy it.

“It isn’t nothing.” Cas shifts to put some distance between them, just enough so he can easily hold Dean’s gaze. “Tell me.”

Dean goes for what he hopes is a blithe smile, but his face feels a little too tight. “Oh, you know. Just that patented Winchester self-loathing.”

Cas doesn’t smile back. “What about?”

“I—” Dean shrugs, wishing Cas would just drop it. The humiliation of having to admit to any kind of deep-seated insecurity is almost as bad as the insecurity itself. “I guess I just don’t want this to end.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “What do you mean, Dean? Are you talking about _us_?”

Dean just nods, heat creeping up the back of his neck even as the fear that this will be the moment Cas decides he’s not worth the effort settles in his stomach.

“Dean, I have no intention of ending any of this.”

“But what does that mean?” Dean props himself up on an elbow, his agitation growing. “Does it mean we… we spend our lives together? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Cas, but the people in my life don’t tend to meet good ends. And that’s assuming you don’t get fed up with me first, which seems like a bit of a stretch.”

“Dean—”

But now that he’s voicing the thoughts, they just keep coming, like waves endlessly crashing down on him. “I just think that maybe we should acknowledge that this isn’t going to end pretty. And I’m not saying that I don’t wish things were different. But you of all people should know that I can’t offer you some peaceful, apple pie life, and that’s what you deserve if you want it. Hell, at the very least you deserve someone who’s not an emotionally repressed borderline alcoholic. I can’t offer you anything worth having, Cas. The way I see it, the best-case scenario is that you’re massively disappointed with me and I don’t know if I can even take that.”

“Dean.”

Cas’s voice is firm, unyielding, and when Dean meets his eyes, for a moment he sees the magnificent, commanding soldier of Heaven who pulled him out of Hell all those years ago. It’s enough to silence his spiraling thoughts for a moment, and Cas takes advantage of that.

“I know that this is… a lot. It’s frightening. You think I don’t feel that too? It’s frightening because it feels important.”

Dean nods, not wanting to speak in case he finds himself unable to stop again. That’s exactly what this is: important. It’s the _most_ important thing. And that makes it utterly terrifying.

“But after all this time, after everything we’ve been through together, do you really think I could expect something from you that you can’t give?” Cas’s brow is furrowed again, and Dean fights the urge to reach out and smooth the creases. “I know you, and I love you for exactly who you are. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Somehow Dean manages to find his voice, even with the lump that’s rising in his throat. “Cas, these last couple of weeks with you… it’s been incredible. But this life—all of it, all the ugliness and violence and all of my baggage—is this really what you want? Hell, even being _human_. Is _that_ really what you want? Have you really thought about this?”

“I’ve thought about it for twelve years, Dean.” Cas’s voice is low and steady, leaving Dean no room to question. “As for being human, I’ll admit that it’s an adjustment. I’m still not used to being tuned out of angel radio. And I worry that without my powers I won’t be of much use to you on hunts. But a life with you is more than I’ve ever dreamed of having. I promise you, Dean, that I’ll stay with you for as long as you want me.”

Dean knows that his voice will break if he speaks, so for now he just nods again and lies back down, burrowing into Cas as if he can’t get close enough. God, it feels good to just let himself be held. And Cas’s voice does soothe something in him. It’s still too good to be true, and he still knows that. But if he could believe anyone who promised that everything would be okay, he guesses that it would be Cas. After all, Cas probably knows better than anyone, even Sam, just how much of a mess Dean is. Cas has seen him through the lowest moments of his life, and nothing’s scared him away so far. So if he says that this is what he wants, at least he has a pretty good idea what he’s getting into.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says after a moment. “I never do make things easy.”

“The same has been said about me. Suppose that means we’re well-matched.” Cas lowers his face to press a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “I don’t want you to worry, Dean. But you should never feel bad about it. After everything you’ve been through, I understand why you do.”

Dean gives a slight nod before leaning up to meet Cas’s lips, letting the embrace dissolve his doubts for a little while. Cas’s mouth is warm against his, that scrape of stubble that’s only just started to become familiar sending a thrill through him. Even if everything goes well, Dean knows it’ll be a long time before these thoughts stop plaguing him, if they ever do. They could be together still twenty years down the line, and even then it’s hard for Dean to imagine not worrying about losing Cas. It’s hard for him to imagine ever not worrying that he won’t be enough. But they’re together now, and Cas is so patient and gentle with him, and all Dean can do is try his best. Maybe that’s enough, at least for now.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not the worst condition either of them have been in upon stumbling into a rundown motel room after a hunt, but it’s the first big hunt they’ve gone on since they’ve been together. It’s the first hunt since Cas has been human this time around, and the blood trickling down his face is enough to send Dean into a near panic. He ignores the ache in his side as he crosses the room to dig through his duffel bag—there’s undoubtedly a nasty bruise forming just below his ribs, but that doesn’t matter, not when Cas is bleeding.

“Dean, it’s not that bad,” Cas insists, coming to stand behind him. Before he can pause to reply, Dean finally finds the first aid kit.

“Yeah, well, sit down and we’ll make sure.”

Cas obeys, although his expression tells Dean he’s only humoring him. Dean can’t find it in himself to be even a little blasé, though. Even now that things are slowing down enough for him to see that the cut about Cas’s eye is not as severe as he’d first thought, he’s still struggling to keep his hands from shaking as he opens the kit. He won’t feel better as long as there’s such an alarming amount of blood.

It was a pretty straightforward case that led them to a couple of ghouls—nothing to write home about. Sam had even offered to find someone else to put on the case, someone already in the area, but Dean had insisted that he and Cas could take it. With the new leadership in both heaven and hell, things have been relatively quite lately. That sinking feeling of being certain you’re going to die soon has started to ease out of Dean’s chest. He was actually starting to get a little antsy, stuck in the bunker without any real work to do. Cas, on the other hand, had seemed perfectly content with the quiet existence, but he’d made no objection when Dean suggested they head out on this hunt. It occurs to Dean now that Cas might have only been on board for his sake, and the thought makes his stomach twist with guilt.

Of course it’s a little silly to be so anxious over a few scrapes and bruises. Dean knows this. It’s not like he’s never seen Cas injured before. He’s even been the cause of those injuries. But it was never a sight that Dean could really stand, even when Cas had his powers and could easily heal himself. And now that he’s human, Cas just seems so… fragile. Yes, he can handle himself perfectly fine in a fight, just as much as Dean can. But that doesn’t stop that deep, uneasy fear from pooling in Dean’s stomach. It doesn’t keep his brain from replaying every horrible time he’s seen Cas dead or dying. So quickly and easily, he could just be gone.

Forcing the thought to the back of his mind, Dean takes a deep breath and presses a gauze pad to the gash, holding it carefully so he doesn’t hurt Cas. “Hold that there. I’ll clean up the blood so we can see what we’re dealing with.”

Cas does as instructed and Dean goes to work wiping away the blood that’s been cascading down the side of his face. He can feel Cas watching him, their faces only inches apart, but Dean won’t meet his eyes. He tells himself to focus on the task at hand. If he lets himself really _see_ Cas right now, the fear and panic that he’s struggling to fight down will overtake him. So he focuses on wiping away most of the blood, and he can breathe a little easier once he can see it really isn’t that bad. Still, he avoids Cas’s gaze as he reaches up to lower his hand from the wound, replacing the bloody gauze with a cotton pad soaked with alcohol. Cas sucks in a sharp breath at the sting of it, and without thinking Dean reaches over to entwine his free hand with Cas’s.

“Will I make it?” Cas asks drily as Dean examines the gash.

“That’s not funny.” Dean’s voice comes out a little harsher than he’d meant it to. Yes, now that he’s actually looking at the wound, the panic is starting to recede and he’s realizing that maybe he’s overreacting a little. Maybe. But at the very least, it doesn’t feel like an unfounded overreaction. Cas could have easily been hurt more than he is.

“Sorry.” Cas sounds sincere, and great, now Dean also feels like an asshole.

“No, I just—” Dean sighs and turns to rifle through the first aid kit for the butterfly bandages. “Maybe I panicked a little. But can you blame me for worrying about you?”

Cas seems to think this over for a moment before responding, catching the edge of Dean’s jacket and rubbing the material between his fingers. “No, I suppose I can’t.”

Dean pauses, letting the side of his head rest against Cas’s.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly after a moment, though he makes no move to pull away from Cas just yet. “You hurt anywhere else?”

“I’m fine. Just a few bruises, probably.” Cas’s voice is warm and gentle, and Dean allows it to ease some of his tension. “You?”

“Doin’ just fine. Son of a bitch got in a good blow to my side, but it’s nothing an ice pack won’t help.”

Dean pulls back just enough to see the worried pinch between Cas’s brows, and Cas raises a hand to his face, carefully running his thumb along the bottom edge of Dean’s lip. As he does, Dean can feel the sting of a cut he hadn’t noticed before—a split lip isn’t exactly a rare occurrence and normally Dean wouldn’t pay it any mind. But Cas frowns at it, even as Dean presses a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

“’M I still pretty enough for you?”

This doesn’t erase the concern from Cas’s expression, but it at least makes him smile a little. He cups Dean’s cheek, and Dean sighs at the familiar feeling of the warm, rough palm.

“You’re beautiful, Dean Winchester.”

Grinning even as his face heats, Dean pulls back a little to return to the task at hand. He still doesn’t like the angry red line across Cas’s temple, and the bandages he carefully places over it don’t make him feel better. But he can breathe easier now that it’s taken care of. He can’t quite stifle a groan as he straightens and the ache in his side flares again, and before he knows it Cas’s hands are on his shoulders, gently pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed that he had just occupied.

“Your turn,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let me see.”

Dean raises his shirt without protest and tries to sit still as Cas’s fingertips lightly trail over his skin. It would tickle if he weren’t tracing the edge of a bruise that’s actually pretty damn sore.

Cas gives a dissatisfied sigh as he pulls away. “Well, no signs of internal bleeding, and if anything was fractured or broken, you’d be in a lot more pain.”

Dean starts to make some crack about how comforting that is, but something in Cas’s expression stops him. “Hey. Something wrong?”

Cas shrugs and sits down next to him, though he’s not meeting Dean’s eyes. “There’s nothing I can do for you, Dean, except maybe get you some ibuprofen. I can’t help you.”

There’s no frustration in his voice, just resignation. Dean thinks that’s somehow worse. They haven’t talked much about Cas losing his powers, and Dean realizes that with all the time they’ve spent comfortably tucked up in the bunker, maybe this is the first time Cas is really missing them. Cas’s hands are clasped in his lap, and Dean reaches over to cover them.

“It’s not a big deal, Cas. It’s not that bad. I’ll heal up quickly enough on my own.”

“But next time could be worse,” Cas insists. “Next time you could end up in bad shape, and I still wouldn’t be able to fix you. What then?”

Dean doesn’t say anything at first—it’d be insincere of him to assure Cas that there was no need to worry when his concerns just echo what’s been running through Dean’s mind.

“I don’t know,” he sighs eventually. “I guess if… if something bad happened to either of us, we’d just have to deal with it in the moment. I don’t know that there’s really a way to prepare for that kind of thing, even if—” Dean swallows thickly, the words sticking in his throat. “Even if it’s likely to happen sooner or later.”

He turns to see that Cas’s face is stony, set in what Dean guesses is some combination of fear and grief, if it’s anything like what he’s feeling. He continues quickly.

“But you know that if something serious does happen and you can’t heal me, that’s not some kind of failure on your part. You’ve always been more than just your powers, Cas. And, for the record, just because you can’t heal me anymore doesn’t mean you don’t help me. Just being with you does me a world of good.”

Cas’s expression softens a little, and he finally meets Dean’s eyes. There’s a sadness in his eyes that makes Dean ache for him, and he tries to offer Cas a playful grin.

“Y’know, back in the day I could take a bullet and keep on going like it was nothing. Now I’m gonna be feeling this for a week.” Dean huffs out a laugh and ducks his head. “Maybe I’m getting too old for the job. Never thought I’d live long enough to age out.”

He’s met with silence, and when he looks up again Cas is watching him thoughtfully.

“What?”

“You _could_ do something else.” Cas speaks slowly, like he’s measuring Dean’s reaction to each word. “ _We_ could do something else.”

Maybe it’s the certainty Cas said it with, or maybe it’s the post-hunt, adrenaline-crash exhaustion starting to settle over him and muddle his thoughts, but for a split second the idea doesn’t sound entirely crazy.

“Yeah, like what? What kind of options are out there for a dude in his forties who never finished high school, has very few practical skills, and has no recorded employment history?” He says it lightly, half-expecting Cas to agree and laugh off the whole idea, but Cas’s face remains serious.

“Probably similar options to someone with no documentation who bears a remarkable resemblance to a man who’s legally been missing for twelve years. That doesn’t mean that there are _no_ options. We could find something.”

Dean’s quiet for a long moment, his thoughts a jumble of half-formed words that are gone too quickly to take on any coherency. It’s been a long time since he’s considered leaving the life. After everything that happened with Lisa, Dean came to accept that it just wasn’t in the cards. Hunting is a part of him, and it’s something he knows will follow him through the rest of his life no matter what, even if it only takes the form of nightmares. And sure, Sam and Eileen are more or less out, preferring to take on something more akin to Bobby’s role as resident researcher and coordinator. But Sam’s the one who was always meant to get out. Dean doesn’t even know who the hell he’d be if he wasn’t a hunter.

But the possibility that Cas is placing in front of him, however absurd, is way too enticing to completely brush off. Not risking their lives on a damn near weekly basis sure would be a nice change. Knowing that Cas is safe and not likely to suffer some violent death would be a huge weight lifted. Yeah, the lack of activity during the past few weeks had left Dean restless, but it would probably have been better if he’d had something else to do, even if that something wasn’t hunting. Still, Dean can’t even imagine what a life without hunting would look like for him now.

Then again, he supposes, a few months ago he wouldn’t have been able to imagine being with Cas. But here they are anyway.

“Do you want us to stop hunting?” he asks, watching Cas’s expression carefully.

“I don’t know,” Cas admits. “I guess I never really thought about it until now. Hunting with you is what I know. And I like helping people. But I don’t like seeing you hurt, seeing you risk your life.”

“This is all I’ve done for almost my entire life.” Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “God, I don’t even know if I could function in the normal world anymore. Or not take a case if I came across one. But whether or not I _want_ to keep doing this…”

Dean wonders if _want_ is something he’s ever really considered when it comes to hunting. Between avenging Mom’s death and the series of apocalypses he found himself wrapped up in, whether or not he _wanted_ to hunt had never even seemed like a question worth asking. It was his life. He was good at it, and he had a responsibility to try and clean up the messes he caused; what he wanted was completely meaningless. Even when he had been with Lisa, there had been very little thought of whether he wanted to stop hunting. It had just seemed impossible to hunt right after losing Sam, and by the time he’d started to emerge from his grief, he’d needed to keep Lisa and Ben out of danger. Now, he runs the question through his head over and over, and it’s like his brain keeps getting stuck on the word _want_. Like it’s one of those philosophical questions without an answer that’s supposed to clear your mind or whatever.

He looks over at Cas, who appears lost in his own thoughts, and for just a second allows himself to imagine some other life. Waking up every morning in their own bed, fixing the breakfast and giving Cas a kiss before they go off to their respective jobs. Knowing that they’ll both come home in one piece. It seems like some damned fifties sitcom, it’s so idyllic—it seems completely disconnected from reality. But some small voice in Dean insists that he and Cas could make it work if they really wanted to. Even if it’s rare, it isn’t entirely unheard of for hunters to get out the life. And maybe they wouldn’t even need to get all the way out. Maybe they could find some kind of comfortable in-between like Sam and Eileen.

Maybe it was just time to step back from the frontlines.

“I’m way too tired to figure this out,” Dean sighs eventually. Cas looks at him uncertainly, and he goes on after a moment, his voice a little softer. “But I… I think that I want to keep thinking about it. I want us to talk about it.”

Cas nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “I think I want that too.”

Leaning over, Dean cups Cas’s cheek and pulls him into a gentle kiss. “See? You take excellent care of me.”

Cas chases his lips when he draws back. “I think we take good care of each other.”

Dean smiles at this, broad and easy. “Yeah. I guess we do.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean’s vision blurs as he stares at the laptop screen, although the numbers it displays have not magically changed since he’d sat down to work through them. The fingers of his left hand run idly across the rim of a mug of long-cooled herbal tea—he’s cutting back on the booze at Cas’s insistence, and even though he likes chamomile more than he’d be willing to admit, it’s no substitute for a finger or two of whiskey. Especially at times like this, when he can feel the beginnings of a stress headache taking hold behind his eyes even though there’s still work to do. This was a bad idea, and it should have been obvious from the very start. He’s just not cut out for this sort of thing. If it wasn’t for Cas’s firm and entirely irrational belief that Dean can do anything he sets his mind to, he wouldn’t even have made it this far, to this desk in a cluttered little office in a back room packed with unopened boxes.

He glances up to survey that sea of boxes, desperate to give his eyes a break from the harsh light of the laptop, and he nearly jumps out of his chair at the sight of the silent figure in the doorway. Even as a human, Cas hasn’t lost his ability to seemingly appear out of nowhere.

“Geez, man, how long have you been there?”

Cas shrugs, the muscle of his broad shoulders moving under one of Dean’s old t-shirts, the hem of which just barely reaches the top of his pajama pants. “A minute or two, maybe. You seemed pretty focused.”

Dean blinks and rubs his eyes, tearing his gaze away from the attractive figure Cas cuts leaning there against the doorframe. “Yeah, well, I wish that meant I was making progress. What are you doing down here? I thought you said you were going to bed.”

“I was. And I thought _you_ said you’d be up soon. Almost four hours ago.”

Dean glances at his watch, somewhat startled to see that the wee hours of the morning have crept in. At least that explains the foggy, achy exhaustion he can’t shake.

“Sorry, Cas. I meant to just take a quick look at our costs and projections again and I couldn’t get things to line up right. Guess I lost track of time.”

“It’s okay,” Cas says, stepping further into the office. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks.”

Dean rubs his eyes again, the headache growing more persistent. When he looks up, he’s met with that familiar, concerned expression that means Cas thinks he’s overdoing it. It’s a look Cas has worn quite a lot over the last few months, no longer as urgent as it was when Dean would jolt awake from a nightmare or get injured on a hunt, but just as persistent.

The bar was Dean’s idea, of course, but from the way Cas had lit up when he’d first mentioned it, he’d known he didn’t have to worry about Cas not being on board. And then when Cas had compared the idea to Harvelle’s, Dean had swelled with pride at the thought of following in the path of the Roadhouse. From there, things had moved too quickly for doubt to really settle in. It had just so happened that Garth knew someone who would rent a building to them in Ottawa. The space had definitely been in need of some work, but it had promise, and the sunny little apartment that took up the second floor was an added bonus. Just like that, he and Cas had packed up what they wanted to take from the bunker and moved right in, filling their days with handiwork and orders and a million other things that wouldn’t even have occurred to Dean to do until it was clear they were necessary steps in opening a business.

Sam and Eileen have come by to help out a few times, and even Jack has stopped by. Everyone oohs and ahs about how the place is coming together, how this is such a great idea, how happy they are to see Dean and Cas doing this. With all the excitement, Dean supposes it’s been easy to stay wrapped up in the fantasy. Swinging beers to the regulars, swapping stories with the hunters who pass through as classic rock plays in the background. It’s practically Dean’s natural habitat, and now he gets to make it just how he wants it. And at the end of the night, he and Cas will clean up side by side and then go upstairs to their cozy little home. But of course that’s not the full picture.

It’s only been in recent days, as they hurtle closer to opening, that Dean has really started seeing the cracks in the whole venture. Sure, he’s pretty knowledgeable when it comes to booze, and he’s spent enough time in bars to know what makes a good one. But actually _running_ one is an entirely different story. What the hell made him think he could handle the finances when his primary source of income has always been credit card fraud? How is he, a man who has been wanted by the FBI more than once, now responsible for obtaining licenses and paying taxes? And yeah, it’s not like he’s in this alone. Cas has been an absolute lifesaver in a lot of ways. But in others, it’s the blind leading the blind. Sometimes Dean can’t remember what about this whole thing had seemed like a good idea.

“Dean.”

Cas’s voice draws him from his thoughts, and when he looks up he sees that Cas’s expression has softened into something a little warmer than concern. Cas comes around the desk to put his hands on Dean’s shoulders, and Dean leans back into him gratefully. The expression is just plain care, he realizes, and that too is a familiar look coming from Cas. _Right_. That’s why he’s been doing all of this—to give them a fighting chance at a peaceful life.

“Why don’t you come upstairs now?” Cas says, more insisting than suggesting. “You can come back to this in the morning. I’m sure it’ll be easier once you’ve gotten some sleep.”

“Will it?” Dean sighs, closing his eyes. “A good night’s sleep won’t give me an education. It won’t give me experience that I don’t have. I’m not sure tiredness is the problem here.”

“Maybe not,” Cas concedes, “but it definitely isn’t helping, either. Come on. Just humor me. We’ll figure this out later.”

Dean grumbles as he closes the laptop and gets to his feet. He’s too tired to try and argue with Cas. Besides, being curled up together in their bed sounds like just about the best thing in the world right now.

As they weave their way through the cluttered back room, though, Dean can’t resist pausing to poke his head out into the main space. It’s mostly dark, only illuminated by the light from the streetlights coming in through the large front windows, and it’s mostly empty except for a few scattered tables and chairs. There’s a fresh coat of paint on the walls, but nothing else, and the remnants of the paint smell mixes with the scent of sawdust and stale air. Between Dean and the main room is the empty bar that he and Cas had spent days painstakingly refinishing and polishing to a shine. No booze, no glasses, hell, even the taps haven’t been installed yet. There’s so much left to do, and somehow all of that is the easy part.

He must linger there a little too long, because then he feels Cas’s arm snake around his waist, no doubt trying to comfort him but also trying to keep him moving. Cas has learned well how easily Dean gets distracted when he’s not supposed to be focusing on the bar.

“It’s coming along, isn’t it?” Cas says softly, a hint of pride in the words. Dean wouldn’t have thought Cas would become so attached to this project, but he’s thrown himself into it just as much as Dean has.

“I was kind of thinking the opposite,” Dean admits with a small smile. “We don’t have much time left before this place needs to be up and running.”

“It’s not all that much. It only looks like a lot, especially when you’re tired.”

“Point taken,” Dean sighs, turning away from the doorway. “C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

At the other end of the back room is a door, and through it and up a narrow flight of stairs is their little apartment. It’s been a strange transition, Dean thinks, to go from living in a secret underground bunker to a one-bedroom with only a door marked “private” to guard it. Of course he and Cas have beefed up their security with some sigils and maybe just a little bit of witchcraft, but the place still feels very out in the open. He wonders if Sammy has gotten used to living in a normal house yet.

Still, it’s surprising how homey a place can feel with just some natural light and a few pieces of secondhand furniture. The bunker will always be the place Dean considers his first real home since Mary died, but he is finding that there’s something about the legitimacy of living somewhere normal that he takes pride in. And this isn’t just his home—it’s his home with Cas. There are little things everywhere to remind him that this is their place. The plants lining every single windowsill that Cas likes to tend to. The bedroom closet where ostensibly their clothes are each contained to their own side, despite the fact that Dean’s clothes have the mysterious habit of showing up among Cas’s. The framed photo of Cas in his cowboy hat that sits proudly on Dean’s nightstand. Maybe none of it screams “domestic” on its own, but all together there’s an odd kind of cohesion to it, making up a place that’s comfortable and permanent and _them_. It’s more settled than Dean ever thought he’d be, more settled than he’d even felt living with Lisa.

As he shuffles across the little apartment to their bedroom, he can feel some of the tension leaving him at just the thought of being home. Despite the chill of the winter air that can be felt even indoors, he decides not to bother with pajamas, instead stripping down to his boxers before collapsing into bed. In a moment Cas is beside him, curling up protectively around him, and Dean lets out a contented sigh. But as tired as he is, as good as this feels, his mind isn’t quite ready to settle down.

“Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you happy?”

Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s shoulder. “At the moment I’m mostly sleepy. But generally, yes.”

“You don’t miss hunting or anything?”

Dean feels Cas’s shrug. “Sometimes I do, I guess. But I like what we’re doing now. This feels right.”

“And if the bar fails?” Dean presses.

“It’s not going to fail, Dean.” Cas sounds like he doesn’t think the question was even worth dignifying with an answer, and it makes Dean smile a little.

“Okay, let’s say it doesn’t fail, at least not right away. Are you sure you’re okay with living like this? Isn’t there a part of you that feels like, I don’t know, we’re shirking our responsibility or something? Like we owe it to the world to keep hunting?”

Cas shifts, propping himself up so he can see Dean’s face. “Is that how _you_ feel?”

“No. Maybe sometimes. I don’t know.” Dean sighs. “Maybe sometimes I feel like I was lucky, in a way—hunting has felt like my responsibility for a long time, and it just happens to be the one thing I’ve ever really been good at. Now sometimes I just feel sort of… out of place.”

“I understand,” Cas says softly. “I suppose I feel similarly myself sometimes. Not about hunting, necessarily, but about… Heaven. For millennia I’ve been part of some grand, cosmic plan. Whether it was good or not, the work felt important. This feels… selfish, in a way.”

“Exactly.” Dean rolls over so he can meet Cas’s eyes, feeling a little more awake now. “Like, what right do we have to just decide that we’re done—that our own happiness and comfort is more important? Why do we get to decide to stop helping people when that’s basically what we’re meant to do?”

“Well, I can’t speak for myself,” Cas says thoughtfully, “but when I look at you, Dean, I understand. Everything you and Sam have gone through, it’s so far beyond what should ever be asked of anyone. You’ve sacrificed your life and your happiness and so much else time and time again. And now that you’re no longer being manipulated to live out the story Chuck wanted to see, you get to decide for yourself what you want your life to be. The way I see it, it’s your right to leave all that behind. It’s what the universe owes you.”

Dean’s quiet for a minute as he thinks this over. It’s just the sort of thing he’s always thought about Sam—that he deserves to get out and choose another kind of life—but he’s never quite felt entirely deserving of that himself. The way Cas puts it makes it seem so straightforward, though. All his life he’s been playing a role in some cosmic game, and now he’s managed to fight his way out of it, and this is his compensation. He’s not sure he really buys that, but something keeps him from dismissing the thought entirely, and that’s not nothing.

“If that’s true for me,” he says eventually, “then it’s true for you, too. You’ve fought tooth and nail for us, for the good of the world. Hell, you took Lucifer’s son and raised him to be a benevolent god. I’d say you’ve earned a little bit of selfishness.”

Cas smiles a little, though the expression is guarded. “You don’t believe that it’s true for you, do you?”

Dean shrugs. “Not really, but I don’t not believe it. You?”

“It’s hard to accept. But I think I want to believe it.”

“Maybe we can try to believe it, then.” Dean sinks back down into his pillow, the long day finally starting to hit him. “And I guess it’s not like we have to stop helping people now. We can go on hunts if we want to, and we’ll find other ways too.”

A slow smile spreads across Cas’s lips as Dean speaks, which Dean watches with pleasure. Sometimes it hits him afresh how beautiful Cas is, and he can’t believe how he could have ever gotten so lucky. But even when he’s hit with that surprise again, he doesn’t fear that Cas won’t be here tomorrow, not like he did at first. Cas has said for months now that this is what he wants, and day by day, little by little, Dean’s doubts have eased. He goes to bed at night knowing that Cas will still be there in the morning. And if that’s the case, then maybe there’s hope for him after all. Maybe he can at least partially accept that he’s capable of having something good in his life. Maybe someday he’ll be able to accept that _multiple_ good things are okay, too.

“I’ll try if you do,” Cas says, settling down beside him. They’re not quite touching, but their faces are barely an inch apart.

“Why not,” Dean chuckles. “I can give it a go. But I still think I’m going to run this place into the ground.”

“You’re not going to,” Cas says with an exaggerated exasperation that makes Dean laugh harder.

“Okay, fine. We’ll hope for the best.” Dean looks at him for a long moment. “Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He doesn’t say it enough; even if he says it every day, it’s not enough. Because he’ll never get enough of the way Cas looks when he says it.

Cas leans in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I love you too, Dean.”

Dean goes to chase after his lips, but Cas pulls back to look at him, watching him intently.

“Dean, are _you_ happy?”

There have been plenty of times in Dean’s life when he might have hesitated, even flat-out lied. _I’m fine, everything’s fine_. And it’s not like everything’s perfect now. It’s not like he doesn’t have doubts and fears or moments when he’s suddenly certain that every decision he’s ever made in his life has been wrong. But in his gut, he knows that things are okay. He can face the things that might arise from here. He and Cas can face them together.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling against Cas’s lips as he recaptures them. “I am.”


End file.
